A Little Explanation
by The Phantom
Summary: West Side Story fic. Set in modern-day times, a Jet reflects on the past... Please R&R! Based on the film, as I have not seen the stage production.


Disclaimer: I do not own 'West Side Story' or any of the characters therein. If I did, I would be dating Elijah Wood and taking him to one of my mansions by the sea. If you sue, all you will get is a vending machine ring, a pile of old movie ticket stubs, and smelly old dog blanket. Don't sue.

Author's Notes: See the end of the story after reading it for particular notes about this piece. This is based on the film version of 'Wes Side Story' as I have never seen the stage production. Dang.

A Little Explanation

            Perhaps you wonder… Perhaps you wonder why your grandfather keeps that tattered old photograph on the mantle, treasuring it like a priceless jewel? Or why he stiffens and shudders when he hears the new phrase 'Let's get ready to rumble'? Or why all his old friends come over every June twenty-first to meet and reminisce about something they never tell you about? Let me tell you…

            Come back with me to the good old days. The days when your granddaddy and I ran about the West Side like a couple of wild young things. Back then, he didn't go by the respectable name of Daniel. Not at all. In the good old days, your granddaddy was called Action. And I wasn't called Jonathan. My name was Baby John. I was the youngest, you see.

            The youngest what? The youngest Jet, of course. You mean your granddaddy never told you about the Jets? I know you don't see him that much, but really… Of course, maybe he doesn't want to burden you with such important talk in the short time you're with him.

            Well, he's told me to tell you everything. So I'll tell you everything. All about the Jets, the forgotten kings of the West Side…

            It was somewhere in the 1950's (I can't recall the year at the moment) that it all started. The first time I met your granddaddy, and the rest of us that became the Jets. See, gangs were big back then… oh goodness no, not those vicious gangs like nowadays, but more like just a group of boys with their own territory.

            It was Riff's idea in the first place, I believe. Yes, and then Tony helped him start the Jets. Riff…

            You don't know about Riff, do you? He was a Jet, the best of the bunch too. So why doesn't come over with the rest of us? Well, it's a long story…

            When we started the Jets, we were just a couple of boys. We earned our Jet-names. That's when your granddaddy became Action, because that's what he was. And my pal Frank became A-Rab. And I was Baby John, being the youngest of the bunch. Tony was the leader, and Riff was co-leader.

We were the biggest gang in the West Side. We ruled the streets. Those were the days… I remember walking down the street and feeling so big and powerful, backed up by my buddy-boys. Great feeling.

            The P.R.'s… oh, I'm sorry, Puerto Ricans… started their own gang, called the Sharks. They tried to take over our turf. No, we didn't own the streets legally, but… well, we owned it with our pride. Rather difficult to explain. It was all a matter of pride, really… 

            The Sharks and the Jets, we were always fighting. Goodness no, we didn't 'pound each other's brains out'. It was like… well, let's see… the old Indian tradition of 'counting coup' I guess. Not hurting your opponents, just tagging them and embarrassing them. Great fun, that. Action, your granddaddy, and Riff were the best at the game. They were the fastest and the cleverest. I was never any good at it really… I just played along…

            Tony quit the gang after a while, and Riff took over. Those were the good days. Riff was one hell of a leader. Better than Tony, I always thought. He brought us all closer together. And he hated the Sharks real bad… they did something to him, I don't want to tell you… He always had that scar…

            I can't remember what it was, exactly, that led us to this… but we were so mad at the Sharks, we decided get rid of them once and for all. 'Bomb them out'? Goodness no. More like scare them out, beat them and show them who's boss. So we planned a rumble.

            Rumbles? Rumbles are, were, very bad things where two gangs got together and fought. We never really rumbled that often, especially not after The Rumble.

            Tony talked us into a fair fight, you see, just two boys fighting with their fists to settle it all. But somewhere along the line, knives got involved. I was so scared… it was terrible. I remember seeing Riff flattened against the fence, no knife in his hand… and I remember when Tony held him back, then let go, sending him running right onto Bernardo's knife… Excuse me, I seem to be crying…

            I'm sorry. Yes, Riff was killed that night. I ran to his side after he fell, but it was too late…

            Your granddaddy, Action, took over the gang. And he did a real good job, considering the empty space left by Riff. 

            That was the worst two days I ever lived through. Bernardo died too, and so did Tony. That's what happens when you fight… Nothing good comes from hate… 

            The Jets didn't stay together very long after that. I remember Ice was the first one to leave, then Diesel, then A-rab… Then Action. We all split up, claimed back our real names, and some of us had quite respectable lives. Snowboy, he was a great doctor. And Action, your granddaddy, he got married and had your daddy as a son.

            I got married too. I have two daughters, both married now. You've met them, once, I think. Or maybe you were too young to remember…

            That old picture on the mantle? Here, let me show you… careful now, this really is priceless… that's us Jets. See that boy there? That's Action, your granddaddy. And there's me and A-Rab… oh, this picture brings back memories… Look! There's Diesel and Tiger… I miss them… and look here in the front. That boy with the curly hair? That's Riff. See how proud and strong he is? That's Riff for you…

            Maybe you'll understand now… why your granddaddy gets sad sometimes, like the rest of us… The memories are still so clear, even though there's lots of other things I can't remember… I can't remember Riff's real name. He was Riff on the day I met him, and I only heard his real name once. I guess that's good… We all had to grow up and take adult, respectable names. But Riff will always be that same young leader, forever marching down the street like the king he was…

            The next time you go out for a walk on the West Side, find the old antique shop called 'Tiger's' Tiger bought the land after the original place closed down… his son runs the store now… that store used to be called 'Doc's'. Go around to the back, and look at the wall… it's still there, you know. We all preserved it. The Wall. We all signed our names there, in paint. I didn't think it would last this long, but it has. Your granddaddy signed as Action in the red paint… it's faded, but it's still there… And in the green, little letters, you'll see 'Baby John'. Biggest of all, bright blue, 'Riff'…

            And why do we gather here on June twenty-first every year? That's the night of The Rumble. The night when we all became men, the night when our courage and strength was put to the test. And the night Riff became immortalized forever. 

            So the next time you say 'Let's get ready to rumble', think about your words. Because a long time ago, a couple of boys had those same thoughts. And it changed our lives completely.   

Author's Notes: Whaddya think? My first 'WSS' fic. Please review. Constructive criticism always appreciated. Flames will be used to bake this leftover cookie dough. Hope you enjoyed my work! Thanks for reading!


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